


A World In A Grain of Sand

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Babysitting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Vetinari babysitting young Sam Vimes
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	A World In A Grain of Sand

It did not make a great deal of sense, from a standpoint of sheer scheduling, no, circumstances were likely deliberately engineered for him to be sitting here on the floor of young Sam Vimes’ room, while his parents were at Morphic Street and Pseudopolis Yard.

The curly-haired child held up a plush tiger and said “Play with me, Uncle Ha’luck.”

Vetinari did not have the heart to correct the vowel from near-open central to open back unrounded, as long as he wasn’t being called ‘haddock,’ it was fine with him.

He took the tiger and felt his mind drawing a blank.

Children played pretend, but in Havelock’s opinion, improvisational puppet theatre demanded a lot and should not be asked of people on short notice. As a young child, if he had done anything at all with the soft toys on his bed, besides just hold them, it was to line them up in rows and circles on the floor.

Sam looked up at him expectantly. “Tiger is the mayor of the town.”

“Ah. Is he a figurehead or a politician?”

Sam nodded at this question and stood on tip-toe to pull down a small wooden box on wheels from a shelf. “Time I tied him to the front of the cart ‘cause I don’t have a boat. I got a book on boats. Some of ‘em have lions on the front.”

“Does he go around cutting ribbons to announce the commencement of projects conducted by people with an over-inflated sense of their own importance?”

Sam frowned at the tiger in the hand of the lord of the city. “You’re s’posed to make him talk.”

“Right.” Vetinari affected a passable Sto Kerrig accent and turned the tiger from side to side as though it was addressing a crowd. “All these people with over-inflated senses of their own importance demanding that I cut ribbons to announce the commencement of their projects.”

Sam giggled. “Sound like th’assassin who gives me mint sweets.”

Vetinari froze, holding the tiger in mid-air.

“Only the red circle ones,” Sam continued, realizing something was wrong. “Says he won’t share the humbugs on account of they’re venomous.”

“Samuel,” Vetinari said, letting out a breath. “If you bite something and ingest toxins, it’s poisonous, if something bites you and administers toxins into the bloodstream it’s venomous. Most languages do not make this distinction, indeed, it is arguably eroded in Morporkian vernacular, although this appears to be unidirectional in favor of ‘poisonous’—“

“Not s’posed to bite mint sweets.”

Vetinari shook his head. “Just don’t take sweets from Assassins.”

“You’re a Assassin.” Sam pointed out.

“Not so much any more.”

Sam pushed the small wooden cart across the floor. Just before it hit the wall, Vetinari picked it up and passed it from one hand to the other and handed it back to Sam.

Sam pushed it across the floor again. Vetinari handed it back to him again.

This could go on forever. It was almost peaceful.


End file.
